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'Oh,' I say, and rub my nose.

I'm about to say politely that he feels like a friend, too, when he adds, 'Plus anyone who recites Woody Allen films line for line has to be a loser.'

I feel a surge of outrage on Connor's behalf.

'You don't know anything about it!' I exclaim. 'You know, I wish I'd never sat next to you on that stupid plane! You go around, saying all these things to wind me up, behaving as though you know me better than anyone else—'

'Maybe I do,' he says, his eyes glinting.

'What?'

'Maybe I do know you better than anyone else.'

I stare back at him, feeling a breathless mixture of anger and exhilaration. I suddenly feel like we're playing tennis. Or dancing.

'You do not know me better than anyone else!' I retort, in the most scathing tones I can muster.

'I know you won't end up with Connor Martin.'

'You don't know that.'

'Yes I do.'

'No you don't.'

'I do.'

He's starting to laugh.

'No you don't! If you want to know, I'll probably end up marrying Connor.'

'Marry Connor?' says Jack, as though this is the funniest joke he's ever heard.

'Yes! Why not? He's tall, and he's handsome, and he's kind and he's very … he's …' I'm floundering slightly. 'And anyway, this is my personal life. You're my boss, and you only met me last week, and frankly, this is none of your business!'

Jack's laughter vanishes, and he looks as though I've slapped him. For a few moments he stares at me, saying nothing. Then he takes a step back and releases the lift button.

'You're right,' he says in a completely different voice. 'Your personal life is none of my business. I overstepped the mark, and I apologize.'

I feel a spasm of dismay.

'I … I didn't mean—'

'No. You're right.' He stares at the floor for a few moments, then looks up. 'So, I leave for the States tomorrow. It's been a very pleasant stay, and I'd like to thank you for all your help. Will I see you at the drinks party tonight?'

'I … I don't know,' I say.

The atmosphere has disintegrated.

This is awful. It's horrible. I want to say something, I want to put it back to the way it was before, all easy and joking. But I can't find the words.

We reach the ninth floor, and the doors open.

'I think I can manage these from here,' Jack says. 'I really only asked you along for the company.'

Awkwardly, I transfer the folders to his arms.

'Well, Emma,' he says in the same formal voice. 'In case I don't see you later on … it was nice knowing you.' He meets my eyes and a glimmer of his old, warm expression returns. 'I really mean that.'

'You too,' I say, my throat tight.

I don't want him to go. I don't want this to be the end. I feel like suggesting a quick drink. I feel like clinging to his hand and saying: Don't leave.

God, what's wrong with me?

'Have a good journey,' I manage as he shakes my hand. Then he turns on his heel and walks off down the corridor.

I open my mouth a couple of times to call after him – but what would I say? There's nothing to say. By tomorrow morning he'll be on a plane back to his life. And I'll be left here in mine.

I feel leaden for the rest of the day. Everyone else is talking about Jack Harper's leaving party, but I leave work half an hour early. I go straight home and make myself some hot chocolate, and I'm sitting on the sofa, staring into space when Connor lets himself into the flat.

I look up as he walks into the room, and immediately I know something's different. Not with him. He hasn't changed a bit.

But I have. I've changed.

'Hi,' he says, and kisses me lightly on the head. 'Shall we go?'

'Go?'

'To look at the flat on Edith Road. We'll have to hurry if we're going to make it to the party. Oh, and my mother's given us a house-warming present. It was delivered to work.'

He hands me a cardboard box, I pull out a glass teapot and look at it blankly.

'You can keep the tea-leaves separate from the water. Mum says it really does make a better cup of tea—'

'Connor,' I hear myself saying. 'I can't do this.'

'It's quite easy. You just have to lift the—'

'No.'